Half a Rogue eBook

He began calmly. The orator always reserves his
telling apostrophes till that time when it is necessary
to smite palm with fist. He spoke of Jefferson,
the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose,
the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political
speakers generally forget who emulate their historic
political forebears, that progress rearranges principles
and constitutions, that what passed as good statesmanship
in Jefferson’s time is out of order in the present.
Mr. Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor.
There was a sudden commotion in the rear of the hall.
Men were surging to and fro.

“Stand back!” cried a firm, resonant voice,
full of anger.

The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs
craned their necks. Some stood up to learn what
the matter might be. Others mounted their seats.
A thousand absurd conjectures passed from mouth to
mouth.

“Somebody’s dropped dead!”

“Sit down in front! Sit down!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Where are the police?”

“Put him out!”

“A fight!”

Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly.
Mr. Rudolph still paused and moistened his lips impatiently.
Men can give and take away popularity in the same
breath, but a dog fight is arranged by occult forces,
and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes.
We are educated to accept oratory, but we need no
education in the matter of a dog fight. This
red corpuscle was transmitted to us from the Stone
Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment.

Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting
desperately, near the exits. In between human
legs, under chairs, this way and that, snarling, snapping,
dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried to use
canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches.
The dogs were impervious. Now the white dog was
atop, now the tan. So many interfered that there
was no interference.

It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been
listening to the orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy
from afar, slyly crept out of his master’s reach.
The white dog had also been on the watch. In the
drop of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington
instantly comprehended the situation, when he saw
McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, clear
a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying
wall of men and commanded those in front to stand
back. He was furious. He had no objections
to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloody
conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove,
but Jove was past hearing; he had tasted his enemy’s
blood. Once Warrington succeeded in parting the
dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation
complete. Instantly they were at it again.
The police made superhuman efforts to arrive before
it was all over. The fight, however, came to
an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found
his grip. But for the broad collar on McQuade’s
dog the animal would have been throttled then and
there.